


Ne Me Quitte Pas

by awittyname



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 20:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16668166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awittyname/pseuds/awittyname
Summary: Bertie overhears a conversation between Jeeves and his dear Aunt Dahlia, and assumes the worst. Jeeves reassures him.





	Ne Me Quitte Pas

**Author's Note:**

> this is the full fic version of The Conversation, but you don't need to have read this to understand this

It was a rum sort of morning, and I had been wandering the halls of Brinkley, somewhat itchy with the rain, unable to walk the grounds without becoming one quite soaked specimen of Wooster, and so instead, I paced the halls, unsettled. I’d been growing more and more restless the more time I spent rather having to share Jeeves with the rest of the house. I found that it was not the cozy sort of spot that it had once been. With Jeeves often running around the house, helping the other servants there, I found that I had lost the common companionship I had come to enjoy. 

I mean, it was rather cozy in our flat since I had coaxed Jeeves into spending nights sitting across from the young master discussing books. I had actually learned a thing or two about philosophy from the chap, as he had a wonderful way of being able to break down things like giant tomes of Spinoza into terms that this Wooster could understand. We’d discuss things like rather corking bits of news in the daily paper, my manuscripts, and just life in general. We’d become rather chummy, really, and here at Brinkley court I found that I was missing that. 

There were no immediate concerns that had landed me in the soup, no errant fillys around that wanted to tie themselves to me permanently, no bits of silver that were needed to be stolen, in short, it was supposed to be the sort of pleasant, relaxing holiday that I had expected it to be. But instead of relaxing, I found myself tense and wound up, and desperately in need of a stiff drink, as I rolled the one problem that had been rustling around the head of one B.W. Wooster for the past few months. Well, longer than that really. It had started rustling the day that Jeeves had walked through the door like an angel sent from heaven itself, facing me with a morning head and instantly relieving it with one of his wonderful concoctions.

At first I had simply marveled at the wonderful great brain tucked inside that head. But as time wore on, as it was to do, there was something about the man that got under the Wooster skin. I had found myself admiring more than that g.b. and found that I had started to admire the way his hair fell into his eyes occasionally when he was doing dishes late at night, and I found myself conniving ways to see him at less than his best. There was something about seeing a Jeeves, normally the picture of perfection himself, down to shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms and braces that seemed to accentuate powerful shoulders and - well, I found myself rather admiring the form of Jeeves as much as I admired his great brain. 

This rummy sitch had grown almost unbearable after that mess at Chuffnell Hall when Jeeves had briefly left my employ. I had found myself feeling somewhat lost in those few weeks, and the morning Jeeves woke me in the potting shed, I had come to realize that what I felt for Jeeves went far beyond anything I had felt for any blasted beazel, no matter how nice of a profile they had, it didn’t compare to Jeeves. I had come to accept that I had always found the male form rather more pleasing than the female, but had always considered that the old Etonian thoughts should have stayed at Eton. 

Until Jeeves waltzed into my life with that graceful glide he had. He has this ability to almost transport himself from point A to point B without making a sound, and had more than once startled the young master without intending to. And as time wore on, I found myself questing to make that feudal spirit relax some. But I often felt that I was tilting at windmills like that Quixote chap, trying to see things that weren’t there. When Jeeves had said that there was a ‘tie that binds’ I found that I had rather wanted to see it as a remark that he felt the same way about me. 

The worst part of the sitch was that while I counted Jeeves among my closest friends, there were very few hints that he considered a mentally negligible young man as a potential suitor. He had given no hints of preference for any member of any sex, outside of a few understandings here and there, but like the Wooster engagement they had never amounted to much. I was quite happy with our bachelor life, especially now that I had started to break through the walls and gotten Jeeves to let down his feudal spirit and stuffed frog facade somewhat in the confines of the Wooster GHQ. But here at Brinkley the stuffed frog was back in force, and I found whatever chumminess we had found to fade away as he resumed his role as simply a servant instead of the rather good chum he had become. 

And over the past few years as I watched my fellow drones one by one pair off with some female of the species, I found that I’d rather sit at home with a corking penny novel and Jeeves for company. I still went to my club of course, and found myself in all kinds of soup, and Jeeves was always there to strain this Wooster, and some of his closest pals out of whatever problems they found themselves in. But many of those c.p’s were slowly spending less time at the drones, the same as I was. They were busy with families, slowly breeding the next generation. And while I found myself doting on their children, it induced a certain loneliness in my heart. 

In short, as I was wandering the halls, I found myself brooding. It was not something I did often, and I found that it was not a pleasant feeling. I tried to think happy thoughts, or of the next edition of What the Well Dressed Man is Wearing and that’s when I got the worst news in the world. I don’t make a habit of listening at keyholes, but I couldn’t help it when I heard the voices of my wonderful, if rather powerful Aunt Dahlia and my faithful manservant talking in her study. “Jeeves,” She had said, “I believe it would be best if you left Bertie’s employ.” It was all I needed to hear, and I didn’t stay to hear any more. 

My dearest aunt was being an Aunt, and thus the worst thing that could happen in any chap’s life. She wanted Jeeves out of my life, and I found that I was rushing up to my room, unable to bear the thought. What would my life be without Jeeves. Without my keeper, the perfect person to keep me away from the blasted fillys, unable to strain me out of the soup? I would no doubt wind up married off to some woman I never loved, my heart forever tied to black hair and the minty smell of brillantine, those strong arms that I had often laid in bed wondering how they would feel wrapped around the Wooster corpus. And I found myself rather in a state. It was bad enough that I had been brooding already, and to hear this news rocked me to the core. 

I lay back on top of the sheets, my suit getting rumpled, and the thought of what Jeeves would no doubt say about it rang through my head. He would give his little cough like a sheep on a distant hill, and recommend that I at least would remove my suit jacket, and lay in my vest and shirtsleeves. And I daresay the thought brought a lump to the Wooster throat. What would I do about this? I couldn’t very well tell my dear aged relation that I was hopelessly in love with one R. Jeeves, and I couldn’t bear to be apart from him. For one thing, she’d no doubt tell Jeeves and I couldn’t bear to be found out in that way. 

For another, she’d probably send me into the care of Roderick Glossop to try and change my thoughts about the male form and what a perfect specimen of it that Jeeves was. Worst of all, she’d probably see me forced into a marriage that I didn’t want just so that I wouldn’t be a blot on the Wooster name. It was bad enough that I was already considered one amongst my Aunts, I couldn’t bear to always be looked at askance at family gatherings. Even if the knowledge didn’t make it past my dear Aunt Dahlia, knowing that she knew my secret would be absolutely horrid. 

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the door open until I heard that sheep on a distant hillock cough, and wondered just how many times I would hear that again until Jeeves left me. I simply turned my head in his general direction. “I already know that you’re here to give your notice Jeeves, I heard Aunt Dahlia ask you to. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was walking past the study and I overheard -” I couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“May I sit, sir?” He looked at the chair by the bedside and I merely nodded. He pulled it closer to where I was laying, and I felt his gaze scrutinizing me. “Did you hear any of the rest of the conversation between Mrs. Travers and myself?” 

“No, I heard enough with that one sentence.”

“Then, sir, you did not hear me refuse.”

“Refuse?” I couldn’t help the joy that had suddenly sprung to the Wooster heart at that simple word. “You mean you’re not here to give your notice and go to greener pastures?” 

“No, sir.” 

“But why not?” 

“I find that I enjoy my present situation.” I can’t say that I didn’t gape at this. 

“Enjoy? Surely you don’t enjoy fishing my corpus out of the soup time after time, not when you could be running countries with that brain of yours. Surely there are better uses of your time than tending to me, what?” There was that scrutinizing gaze again. There was a long pause before Jeeves spoke again, the silence stretching out like oceans between us. I could tell there were many things going on in that great brain of his, and I met his eyes, trying to discern what exactly he was thinking. There was a serious look on his face, and if it had been a lesser man, some hint of fear. But Jeeves is a stalwart who fears nothing. 

“I fear I would not be as happy anywhere else, sir.” There was a moment of pure, unguarded Jeeves, and for once he let me see through the stuffed frog facade to the man below. And yes, there was definitely a fairish bit of fear there lending truth to the words. What on earth could Jeeves be afraid of? I’d been so caught up in my own rummy musings that it took a moment for the old bean to start trying to decode what exactly Jeeves meant. And to say it gave this Wooster a glimmer of hope that drowned out all the previous moody broodings would be a bit like saying water is wet. It describes the thing, but not in a way that is really quite useful. 

“Happy? You mean you’re happy to have thrown in your lot with this idiot?” 

“I wouldn’t describe you as such, sir, but yes.” I felt my breath hitch in my throat and wondered if I was simply imagining the things that Jeeves intended by that sentence. For a chappie that rarely even seems to have feelings, to hear such a sentence was akin to a huge soppy declaration from lesser men. But I was still unsure if it was my own feelings clouding my view of those words. I mean, they didn’t really say exactly what I was hoping they would. But at least they said that Jeeves wouldn’t be leaving me,and I could be happy with that. At least I’d still have him in my life, even if it wasn’t they way I found myself imagining at times, particularly late at night. 

“Jeeves -” Due to the aformetioned b.h in said t., I found the word coming out a bit more raspy than I intended, and I had no clue what I wanted to follow it with. 

“Forgive me, sir, for what I’m about to do.” 

“What is there to for-mmph.” The ‘mmph’ was the sound of my words being silenced by Jeeves’ mouth, and it took a moment for my brain to catch up and realize the current posish. Id est, that Jeeves was kissing me. If you’ve never been kissed by a Jeeves, let me just say that words do not describe the oojah-cum-spiff feeling suddenly feeling the object of your desire’s lips on yours causes. Even if you’ve never kissed Jeeves himself, and I hope you haven’t, there is a something about the obj. of one’s d’s kissing you. Especially when that desire has been burning for many a day. 

It took a moment for the rest of the Wooster corpus to catch up, and when it did, it pulled Jeeves rather bodily towards it, and the Wooster brain ceded control to the corpus as it had far better ideas than it. It took a moment for noses to get sorted out so one could breathe during this rather wondeful snogging business, and I found it rather more dashed pleasant than it was with any female of the species. It took a moment and rather more insistent tugging before the Jeevsian form was atop of mine, and I was feeling rather wonderful. In fact, wonderful was a bit like that water being wet feeling from above. A description of the word, without really being able to circumscribe it with words. 

What followed was dashed more delicate and private than one B.W. Wooster wants to commit to words, but suffice it to say a rather corking time was had by all parties involved. When it was over I found myself running my hands along the line traced by my man’s braces, which had somehow remained despite the removal of his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, leaving him looking a certain way that did no small stirrings to the Wooster heart. They were rather strained, due to Jeeves’ trousers winding up somewhere near those wonderful thighs, and if I found the sight deletactable, what of it? 

“I say, Jeeves,” I said, after the most delectable gasper that this man has ever saviored, if only because he had shared it with one R. Jeeves, in a notably post-coital, if post-coital is the word I want, bliss, “What brought this on?”

“Your aunt, sir.” It was not what I had expected, and I turned to him in a rather shocked surpised. 

“Aunt Dahlia? But what did-she wanted to see us apart?” 

“Rather the contrary, sir. She said that if I did not express my mutual feelings, i should consider myself unemployed.” I felt a bit of a rum feeling about the tum, and if a nervous expression came upon my face, well it could hardly be helped, what?

“And these feelings, they are indeed mutual?” 

“Most assuredly, sir.” And he assuaged any doubts I might have with a gentle kiss that poured forth all the emotion that he may not express verbally. For I know my Jeeves, and I know that he is not one to go spouting on like Madeline Basset about us being specific dream rabbits, but what he did not say with words, he certainly said with the way his lips met mine own. 

“The aged relation really said that to you?” I can say, I wasn’t quite believing of his words. 

“She compared you rather unfavorably to a lovesick schoolgirl sir, and told me that if I did not do something about your pining expression by dinner I should find myself unemployed.” It certainly sounded like what my Aunt Dahlia would say. After all, this was a woman that had found herself Master of the Hunt on more than one occasion, and had all the subtlety and tact that such a position entailed. Leave it to such a. r. as to put it so bluntly. 

A niggle of doubt began to chew at what little of a mind I had, and I couldn’t help but voice it. “And Jeeves, this - this wasn’t just because you didn’t want to lose your position, was it?” The stuffed frog impression faded completely to a look of complete compassion, if compassion is the word I want. Compassion suffused with love, if I may be so bold. 

“I assure you, I have felt as you have for quite some time. Years, if not my entire life.” There was another of those Jeevesian kisses, which if you have never experienced something similar, I wholly recommend finding someone who loves you as much as you love them. 

“Ne me quitte pas.” I lapsed into the french, english not having enough of an oomph for what I wanted to say. 

“Jamais, j’adore avec mon tout coeur.” While this Wooster has been told that the Germans have a word for absolutely everything, I found that there was nothing, in any language that could describe the feeling that rose in the Wooster breast at this simple declarative sentence. 

“Et mois aussi.” I paused for a mo., tracing lazy circles in wiry curls of chest hair. “I suppose I should thank her, as for once, aunts have proven useful.” 

“I believe you simply not - pining, as she claimed you do, over dinner will be enough.” 

“But Jeeves,” I countered, “Now that I’ve experienced this, how can this Wooster not pine?” 

“I believe this will be a different kind of pining, sir.” There was a moment, where he strongly regarded my corpus, “This time, you will be aware that I am pining as well.” And I say, a delectable bolt of frission flowed through the w. c. at this declaration. 

“I say, Jeeves,” I said, pulling him towards me by his braces, “If you don’t stop saying such things, we will not make it to dinner.” 

At said dinner, I could not help but keep my eyes trained on my faithful manservant, and now, so much more than that, and if I was grinning soppily every time I laid eyes on him, what of it? There was one moment when I caught my dearest relation catching Jeeves’ eye in her own right, and slipping him what she thought was a sly wink, and if this Wooster reddened around the ears and cheeks, I daresay, it was rather deserving.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on Tumblr, JakeRemake


End file.
